


The Professors in Witness Protection

by Cynthia_Cross



Category: The Old Guard (Comics), The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Art History, But not really alternate universe, Canon Lesbian Relationship, College, Conspiracy Theories, Domestic, Domestic Fluff, F/F, I love POV Outsider but there isn't a lot of it so I wrote this, Immortal Husbands Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova, Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani and Nicky | Nicolò di Genova Acting Like a Married Couple, Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani and Nicky | Nicolò di Genova are in Love, Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani is an Incurable Romantic, Lesbian Character, M/M, Med School Professor Nicky, Med School Student, Nicky and Joe become university professors, Nicky | Nicolò di Genova Loves Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani, POV Outsider, Post-Merrick Arc (The Old Guard), Professor Joe, Useless Lesbians, art student, forensic Pathology
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-02
Updated: 2021-02-15
Packaged: 2021-03-13 17:27:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,929
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29157381
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cynthia_Cross/pseuds/Cynthia_Cross
Summary: Post Merrick Arc; POV OutsiderIsabelle had a new professor she had never heard of before. Her girlfriend points out that his name is a tad odd in its basic familiarity-- Joseph Jones.Conspiracies form and hilarity ensues.
Relationships: Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani & Original Female Character, Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova, Original Female Character/Original Female Character
Comments: 23
Kudos: 214





	1. Isabelle's Art History Professor

**Author's Note:**

> So I have an obsession with POV Outsider and Nicky and Joe becoming professors. So, after scouring the limited tag, I decided to write my own.
> 
> And yes I've watched the movie about 5 times already and read the comic since I found it last week. 
> 
> Enjoy!

_Have you ever heard of a “Professor Joseph Jones”?_

_sötnos thats sooooo basic maby hes in witness protection or smth_

_HAH maybe, thanks_

_Np why tho_

Isabelle threw her head back with a tiny snort, grinning at her girlfriend’s texts. Saga could do the most complex calculations in her head in seconds. No calculator. No paper. Nothing except that giant brain of hers. But when it came to grammar, especially in texts, Saga couldn’t be bothered. Isabelle would never envy her girlfriend’s genius. Rather, she admires it every day. 

Besides, Isabelle is a genius herself, she believes. Which is why she, Isabelle Livilla Sterling, who double majored in English Literature and Art History and who is currently working on her Master’s in Art History, is laughing at her girlfriend’s lack of grammar. Her girlfriend, Saga Grahn, who earned herself a bachelor’s and master’s degree in Applied Mathematics and has decided to attend med school, keeps her smiles and laughter humble.

Isabelle opens her phone which had fallen asleep as she busied herself with amusement. She’s met with the familiar messaging app and conversation with Saga. She types in response, nails manicured with black and white nail polish clicking against the glass screen.

_He’s listed as my Professor for my Visual Arts and Museums course._

_i cant wait to listen to u talk about old ass art by dead guys u always make it fun_

_You just love to hear me talk. You only love me for my accent._

_...guilty_

Isabelle threw her head back again, laughing loudly. From the other room in their tiny apartment, Saga’s grin was brighter than the Sun.

* * *

  
  


Saga stared at her email in amusement. Isabelle would get a kick out of this. 

“Isa!” She called out from the living room. Isabelle had been showering when Saga received her first email from her forensic pathology professor. Saga sat there dumbfounded, combing through her auburn hair with her fingers.

“Yeah? What’s the matter?” Isabelle walked out of their bedroom, wet hair wrapped up in a towel and in her oversized sleep shirt and fuzzy sweatpants. Saga’s heart lurched in her throat. Her girlfriend was always so endlessly pretty, she couldn’t get over it. “Saga, what is it?” Isabelle prompted, the corners of her lips tugging up at the corners. Saga’s green eyes were wide, a blush spreading over her freckled cheeks. Isabelle took Saga’s hand into hers, sitting down beside her on the couch. Isabelle brushed an auburn strand of hair out of her girlfriend’s face, twirling it around gently.

“U-uh right. Take a look at this email,” Saga stuttered, leaning into Isabelle now that she sat by her side. Saga pressed a soft kiss to Isabelle’s clothed shoulder before resting her head on it. Isabelle squinted as she read the email. She had taken out her contacts before her shower and forgot her glasses in the bedroom in a hurry, thinking something crazy had happened when Saga called out to her frantically. The two sat in comfortable silence as Isabelle read through the message. Saga hadn’t let go of Isabelle’s hand and was now playing idly with her fingers, tracing the pads of her fingertips to the familiar wrinkles in her palm. Isabelle pressed a kiss to the top of Saga’s head when she finished.

“What’s wrong? It reads like a pretty standard email to me,” 

“Look at the professor’s name!” 

Isabelle took a closer look, scrolling to the very bottom with her free hand.

“What do you think? Witness protection?” Saga finally broke into giggles, pressing her face into Isabelle’s neck. 

“Professor Nicholas Smith? Sure sounds like we have a conspiracy on our hands!” Isabelle began to laugh with Saga, gently pushing her girlfriend down onto the couch. Saga erupted into hysterics when Isabelle jumped on top of her, the towel unraveling to reveal her damp hair. Saga pulled her in for a kiss by her black hair, the two laughing against each other. 

* * *

Isabelle found Professor Jones to be a very kind and gentle man. Joe (he insisted on ditching “stuffy formalities”) was generally very soft-spoken, but had an unrivaled passion for artistry. He spoke of the paintings they studied as if he knew the artists themselves. He must be a very empathetic individual, Isabelle decided. She had also noticed that, today, her professor had a haunted, yet adoring look in his eyes as he spoke of a piece that depicted a scene from the Crusades. 

Two men were the focus of the painting. They were surrounded by carnage and were part of the carnage themselves. The man on the left was dressed in chain-mail armor, a red cross splayed across his armor-clad chest. The man, a Catholic priest, Isabelle scribbled in her notebook, wielded a silver, Italian long sword, stained by the rich red color of blood. The man’s eyes reminded her of Saga’s, the palest of green, but bright enough to light up an entire room. Isabelle followed the blade of his sword to find it impaling the other man. The other was a Muslim man, a merchant perhaps, Isabelle inferred based on his expensive looking clothing. He wielded a scimitar in his hand, which when she followed with her eyes, was swung into the priest’s neck. Isabelle winced at the thought, her hand touching and rubbing the side of her own neck. 

Her professor’s words began to drone away in her mind, but Isabelle couldn’t ignore the vigor in Joe’s voice as he narrated the scene. She couldn’t even if she tried. Isabelle twirled her pen around as she listened and closed her notebook. Isabelle never thought of herself as squeamish, but the dying man’s green eyes reminded her of her lover. It was not a comfortable thought. So, she slipped her notebook into her bag and instead opened up her sketchbook to an unfinished portrait of Saga she had started the day before. She decided that she could sketch and listen. 

Isabelle had lost herself in her art. The class had ended, her classmates had long since filed out, but she was still sitting in her seat. She was diligently focused on each pen stroke, aware of every minute marking. Isabelle was retouching her linework when she felt a presence looming over her shoulder. 

“She’s a beautiful woman,” A soft voice spoke. Isabelle blinked, her pen lifting from the page carefully. The pen danced in her fingers, twirling and spinning with ease and the familiarity of a seasoned artist.

“She really is. The most beautiful I’ve ever seen,” Isabelle replied, fingers touching the page. She could feel her girlfriend’s soft, freckled cheek if she thought hard enough. 

“I would have to disagree,” Isabelle looked up from her drawing of her own personal goddess. Her wintery grey-blue eyes found her professor’s warm and gentle gaze. “My Nicolò is the most beautiful I’ve ever seen in all my years.” He took a seat next to Isabelle. 

“Well Professor-”

“Joe, remember what I said of formalities,” He winked at her.

“Joe,” Isabelle corrected herself, “I believe we will have to agree to disagree,” Isabelle smiled smugly, “No offense to your Nicolò or anything,”

“Absolutely none taken,” Joe smiled at her, glancing down at her sketch again, “Your technique is exquisite, I must compliment,” Isabelle’s smile grew fond, her eyes meeting with the sketch’s eyes. They were perfect and captured everything words could not ever say. Even so, it didn’t compare to the real thing.

“Thank you,” Isabelle managed to choke out, truly expecting to be lectured on her lack of attention today in the class. She certainly knew that she did not appreciate it when she was ignored. “I just couldn’t resist. I started it yesterday and every second of the day I just feel the urge to work on it, to see her face every moment of the day. Without her,” Isabelle paused, exhaling a breath she didn’t realize he had been holding. The stale air trapped in her lungs felt so good to release “I’m going to marry this girl.” The silence was palpable. 

“Isabelle-”

“Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry. I overshared way more than you wanted to know. I’m sorry Professor, I should go now,” She began to pack up her things in a haste, but stopped when she felt a light touch on her shoulder.

“Remember, you can call me Joe,” His smile rivaled the warmth of the sun. “My silence was not discomfort, Isabelle. I was silent because I was reminiscing. You just remind me of myself, I suppose,” His smile was fond and nostalgic, “I feel the same way about my Nicolò,” Isabelle looked back at her professor. “We’ve been together for a very long time, for _ages_ ,” He emphasized, a glint in his eyes. It was like he knew something that she didn’t. It must have been private. She didn’t want to know.

* * *

_Hey, I’ll be a bit late. I got caught up talking with my professor after class. Do you mind if we make that date a home date? I’ll pick something up for us from your favorite Thai place on the way home._

_ofc i dont mind sötnos_

_1 condition_

_tell me about ur class today <3 _

_Deal!_

* * *

“Isa,” Saga deadpanned, stabbing her food, “The priest looks like witness protection guy!” She stuffed her mouth with pot stickers and then pointed at the laptop screen with her plastic fork. The painting from Isabelle’s class earlier that day was pulled up on the laptop.

“Which one?” Isabelle snorted and set her lamb shank down on the counter, walking over to where Saga sat on the couch. Isabelle grabbed one of Saga’s pot stickers with her fingers, putting it in her mouth. She was met with no protest.

“My forensic path prof!” Saga exclaimed, her words muffled and cut off from her mouth full of food. Isabella bent down, staring at the laptop. She still squinted even though she had her glasses on this time. 

“You know,” Isabelle swallowed the food she stole from her girlfriend’s take-out container. “The other one kind of looks like my professor, Professor Joe,” She felt her girlfriend’s cold hand grab her shoulder.

“Oh my god.” Saga put her food down, turning to Isabelle. “Isa!” Saga grabbed Isabelle by her other shoulder, shaking her back and forth. “Sötnos! You said he called his partner Nicolò! Right?” Isabelle nodded. “What if they’re in witness protection together! The two of them are in love, but are from rival gangs or something! Italian mafia maybe? Oh my god what if they were supposed to kill each other but they fell in love instead? This is the depiction of them because the witness protection people want everyone to believe they died? And the two-”

“Saga.” Isabelle cut her off, “This painting is from the Crusades,”

“Oh.”

 _Yeah,_ Isabelle thought, _I’m going to marry this girl._

  
  
  
  



	2. Saga's Medical School Professor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Saga's side of the story plus a little extra tidbit ;)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! Wow! Thank you so much for the love for the story! 
> 
> I did realize that I flipped around the text message format by accident, so that's fixed. 
> 
> The story felt incomplete without my girl Saga and my guy Nicky's side of the story! So here it is in all its glory! 
> 
> Updating this on Valentine's Day so I hope you get a little kick out of the ending :)

Saga’s forensic pathology professor was hot. 

Objectively. Sure, in her opinion she was the gayest woman on the planet. And, yes, she’d never been good at the arts (that was Isabelle), but that doesn’t mean she couldn’t appreciate the man like he was a nice looking car, or a roman statue, or better yet, the beauty of an irrational mathematical constant that can never be expressed as a fraction. Yep, definitely like the latter. Saga appreciated the aesthetic. 

Her professor wasn’t what she expected at all. She expected an old, balding retired surgeon who was grumpy that he couldn’t operate anymore because of his age and failing health. She sure was mistaken. He had a full head of dirty blond hair that fell to his shoulders, the top pulled into a half pony-tail. He had a beard that was growing in, it was a tad darker than the hair on his head. His eyes did freak Saga out a little bit. Not because they had a crazed look in them, no, but because she thought it was like she was looking in a mirror. From where she sat, she could see the piercing green of his irises, only looking when she was sure he was looking at the other half of the class.

He looked to be in his mid-thirties. Isabelle would probably say his fashion sense was atrocious, if not nonexistent if she could see him now. He wore a grey button down with no tie, the top few buttons undone. He had rolled up the sleeves to his elbows. His old looking leather jacket sat on the back of his desk chair. His black slacks were not slacks, but jeans and he had on light brown shoes. Italian leather, she knew it when she saw it. Isabelle had those same shoes. So, maybe Isabelle wouldn’t go after his fashion choices. Saga smiled, thinking of her girlfriend who was probably learning about some dead guy’s art or poetry. She could somehow make a deadman’s words interesting and pretty romantic. How? Saga had no idea.

 _Maybe there is a formula or an algorithm to calculate someone’s objective attractiveness._ Saga thought to herself as her professor rattled on about the class: the schedule, rules regarding late work, acceptable citation format (Saga would grovel to Isabelle later about the essays she would have to write), and the course curriculum. She played with the stapled corner of the syllabus packet and picked up her pink pencil with the other, jotting down a note for herself about exploring that potential algorithm. Saga looked back up, watching her professor speak. His words lilted with a soft accent. Western European, maybe? Saga sighed softly and put her head in her hand. She loved accents, maybe that would make this more bearable. 

* * *

  
  


Saga unpacked her lunch. She opened the Tupperware of takeout from the other night. She had taken her girlfriend’s leftover lamb and the few pot stickers that were (surprisingly) left. She opened the container and grabbed her fork in one hand and pulled out her phone in the other. She smiled softly at her lock-screen. 

Isabelle had struggled her way through online forums and YouTube videos to understand mathematical formulas and graphing. She had figured out how to graph a heart shape with their initials together inside. She had saved multiple files of the graph and currently had the graph as her lock-screen. Saga gazed at her lock-screen before opening her phone with her thumbprint. When Isabelle had shown her this file as a gift for their anniversary, Saga had not left her side for that entire weekend. 

Saga opened up her messaging app and clicked on her girlfriend’s icon, bringing her back to their most recent text conversation from the previous night where they were deciding on takeout. She typed out her message with one finger, typing slowly while eating with her other hand. 

_u wont believe this_

_Hey! You wouldn’t believe how many pieces of art we have at the museum that look like my professor. Crazy! What’s up?_

_i think i have a long lost cousin or smth_

_ALSO WHAAAAA?_

_I’ll show you when we both get home. I can leave work early today so I’ll make you something ;) ...Are you okay? What happened?_

[ **_Saga Grahn has sent a GIF_ ** ](https://media.giphy.com/media/6oJ6oe8F0U4wg/giphy.gifhttps://media.giphy.com/media/6oJ6oe8F0U4wg/giphy.gif)

_MY PROF THE NICK SMITH GUY WITNESS PROTECTION GUY 2.0_

_we have the same eyesssss_

_Babe, I’ve got to get back to work, my break is just about over! We have to discuss this over dinner._

_awwww miss u sötnos talk soon <3 _

Saga giggled and put her phone face down on the table. She shoveled the last of the pot stickers in her mouth. She looked up from her spot in the park and sighed. It was a really nice day. Saga closed her eyes and breathed deeply, basking in the warm sun that shone on her face. She placed her used fork down and stretched her arms above her head as high as they could go. She sat there in a content silence until her phone alarm alerted her that her break time was over.

* * *

“His eyes were just like mine! What if he is a relative of mine who had to go into witness protection?” Saga paced around the small kitchen as Isabelle sauteed vegetables on the stove. “And he was attractive,”

“Wow, you are usually terrible at telling if a guy is attractive,” Isabelle hummed playfully.

“I know right? I am _so_ gay!”

“Well I would hope so,” Isabelle felt a forehead fall onto her back. Saga was caught off guard, her ranting interrupted by her laughter. She pressed a soft kiss to the space in between Isabelle’s shoulder blades.

“Today I could actually get close enough to see him in a bit more detail and what do I get? The shock of a lifetime,” Saga moved her head up, resting her chin on Isabelle’s shoulder. She snuck her hand into the pan and grabbed a snow pea.

“Careful! It’s literally cooking right now you’re going to burn yourself!” Isabelle scolded, swatting her girlfriend’s hand away.

“I’m fine, Isa! Anyways.” Saga removed herself from Isabelle’s shoulder, taking a few steps over and pulling open the fridge. “What did you want to talk to me about? Something about the museum paintings?” Isabelle paused, the wooden spoon in her hand stopped moving. She turned off the burner and pushed the pan onto one of the unused burners. 

“I was taking inventory of the paintings from 16th century Florence because we are going to be housing the Michelangelo exhibit very soon. And so I came across a portrait of the Medici family,” Isabelle placed the wooden spoon down on the ceramic dish for a used utensil. “They were one of the most influential families at the time who were proponents of the Renaissance,” Saga nodded, her green eyes watching Isabelle intently as she turned around, holding her mug of raspberry mint tea. 

“And?”

“And so one of the paintings that was stored away with the Medici family portrait was another of one of the Medici heirs and another man. The man looked like my professor! You know, Professor Joe?”

“Oh my gosh, Isa. Your professor is a descendant of this rich, Renaissance family?” Isabelle stared at her girlfriend. Isabelle blinked at her girlfriend.

“Or he’s some sort of time-traveler,” Isabelle stated it like it was the most obvious answer in the room. Saga blanched.

“Sötnos.” Saga set her cup of tea down on the kitchen table, “Do you have a fever?” She reached her hand up to check her girlfriend’s forehead, but Isabelle intercepted her hand, clasping their fingers together instead and swinging their hands in between them. 

“No, I don’t. I swear there is more!” Isabelle looked at her girlfriend pleadingly, “Listen, call me crazy, but I looked up your professor on the university website.” With her free hand, Isabelle slipped her phone out of her back pocket and opened it with her face ID. The web browser opened up to Professor Nicky’s contact page, “This is him, right?” Saga nodded silently, “Well, look at this other painting I found from the Michelangelo exhibit when I started to inventory that,” Isabelle pulled up her photo gallery, clicking on the photos she had taken of the painting. Saga blanched again, this time a little bit more.

“Isabelle Livilla Sterling.” She spoke her name slowly, “I may not know much about art, but I don’t think you’re allowed to take photos of these!” Isabelle rolled her eyes, blowing air out of her nostrils.

“Believe me it’s fine. They don’t want you taking photos in the museum with flash because it’s distracting and they don’t want to damage the paintings. But that’s besides the point! Look at this guy Michelangelo painted. Tell me he doesn’t look like your forensic pathology professor, Mr. Witness Protection 2.0.” Saga, for the third time that evening, blanched again, all the color leaving her freckled face. 

  
  


Isabelle and Saga sat together in the park across from the university campus. They sat on a thin, but soft blanket underneath the shade (for Saga’s sake) with a vintage picnic basket set off to the side. Isabelle sat with her back up against a slim-trunked ash tree. In her hands were her current sketch pad and a pen. Off to her side were various pens and pencils and a white block eraser. She was adding the finishing touches on her sketch of her girlfriend, who was currently laying with her head resting in Isabelle’s lap. Saga held up a book on Human Anatomy she needed for her classes which she had conveniently found already in Isabelle’s possessions. _An artist needs to study anatomy to draw anatomically correct and accurate portraits,_ Isabelle had told her when she found it stored away at the bottom of their room’s bookshelf. Saga’s brow was furrowed in concentration as she read about a bone whose very existence perplexed her-- the tibia. 

“But what is its purpose? I swear, what if I just had a surgery to remove them? You could make some morbid art about it and I would be fine! Why are they there? For what?” Saga muttered quietly. Isabelle laughed softly, tucking her pen in between her fingers so she could stroke Saga’s arm.

“You’d put yourself through the pain and trauma of surgery,” Isabelle tried to reason with her obvious joke.

“At least you’d be there to nurse me back to health,” Saga sighed dramatically, letting the book rest on her stomach as she threw her head to the side, an arm draped over her forehead. 

“You goof,” Isabelle’s eyes flickered up as she laughed, but her breath only caught in her throat at the two figures she saw on the other side of the park. “ _Saga_ ,” Isabelle shook Saga’s arm, “It’s Professor Joe, and Professor Nicky!” Saga gasped, her eyes wide. She sat up, her hand finding Isabelle’s behind her. The two watched as their respective mentors strolled together in the park, focused on each other and nothing else. 

“No way,” Saga breathed, squeezing Isabelle’s hand tightly, “Oh my god,” Saga turned to Isabelle and Isabelle caught her gaze easily.

“Time-traveling lovers?” Isabelle suggested, grinning brightly.

“What about immortal lovers?” Saga smirked, the spark in her eye ready to defend her case of immortal instead of time-traveling lovers.

 _Hell yeah,_ Isabelle thought, her free hand reached into her pocket, fingers brushing against a black velvet box. _I’m definitely going to marry this girl._

“Whatever the case,” Isabelle gripped the box between her fingers, “Immortal or time-traveling lovers,” Isabelle pulled it out of her pocket, “I’d want that life with you,”

* * *

Nicolò di Genova and Yusuf al-Kaysani were caught off guard when they heard an ear-piercing shriek followed by felicitous squeals and joyous laughter from across the park. 

“Nicolò,” Joe perked a soft smile, “Beloved moon, if she truly is a descendant of your family line, it looks as though she is in good hands,” Joe brushed a lock of dirty blond hair out of Nicky’s face, tucking it behind his ear.

“What makes you think so, my heart?” Nicky pressed his cheek into Joe’s palm, calloused from a millennia of sketching, writing, and fighting. Joe’s thumb caressed Nicky’s defined cheekbone, rememorizing every facet of the face he loved with every fiber of his being.

“I know that one with her,” Joe reassured him, “She’s the one with the hands and heart of an artist.”

“Ah, now I understand.” Nicky pressed a kiss to the inside of Joe’s wrist, “She reminds you of yourself.” Joe’s smile was brighter than the sun, “So she is in the best of hands.”

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, thanks!
> 
> I'm thinking of a second part that details Saga's interaction with her professor! Stay tuned!


End file.
